The Top of Your Lungs is Doing My Head in
by RedQuarter
Summary: Mordred is screaming, screaming because Emrys is the sun, his sun, and the sun is burning out- but he never intended this. He never intended to make Emrys reveal himself, not when he's so unready. He was just tired, so tired, of watching Emrys fade away and of being the only one to notice.
1. Chapter 1

Mordred has never felt the need to scream before. He has never felt his own voice clawing its way up his throat and scratching at the walls of his body. He has never had his cheeks burn from being puffed and pulled over and over again or seen his own body shake from the magnimity of his own words. Mordred has never screamed until now.

It's a rather unpleasant experience to him. He has been forced to maintain composure for most of his life and this feral act is so far from everything he's been taught that it's terrifying. Mordred cannot stand not being in control if himself- but right now, at this moment, it feels like his only choice. To let every thought that's been pounding up in his skull crash out like waves beating upon the shore during a storm...it's almost natural- except that's it's not.

Mordred can see the startled looks on his fellow knights faces- Leon's wide eyes, Percival's frown, Elyan's raised brow, Gwain's outright pout. And even worse, he can see the blank face of his king peering over at him. Mordred knows that he is hurting them and that he should not be yelling at his superiors but he can't stop. His eyes are glazed and his face his red but _he can not stop. _There's a part if him that is desperately trying to stop him because these are the men that he looks up to- the ones that have taken him in and taught him the ropes and been his _friends_, but there is another part of him, the part that's screaming and it's stronger. This is the part that was raised by Druids to the tune of _Emrys, Emrys, Emrys, _the part that was saved a long time ago by a kind servant- and the part that sees that same servant _drowning _while nobody else seems to notice.

At first, when Mordred came to Camelot, he had expected to meet theeared manservant with a gentle nature, but what he found was entirely different. This man, he thinks, the one who still insults the king and jokes with the knights, is a poor substitute. He acts the same- says the same words and does the same things- but he's a thin shell on the verge of cracking. Mordred knows because he watches Emrys when he thinks that nobody is looking. He can see how his smiles no longer reach his eyes (Eyes that are now so dull, _so, so dull._) and how his shoulders sag at every movement, as if the very air itself is an incomprehensible weight of which he can barely lift. That's all Mordred had done at first- watch. And then suddenly he's yelling.

Mordred had wanted to help Emrys for so long, now. Wanted to pick up all the pieces of him and put them back together until they form a smile that shines like the sun (Because that's what Emrys is to him- the sun.), but he knows Emrys would never listen to him. There have been one too many Morganas for that, but still. Mordred worries. He can see the very esence of Emrys slipping away, everything that made him worthy of his destiny receding to the darkest parts of his soul in vain effort to protect himself . Mordred had wanted to wrap his magic around Emrys and pull everything back out, but he could only watch- until one day when he's watched entirely too much.

It had been just another hunting triphur had wanted to escape from his duties for a while, _as if he was the one who had it hard. _They hadn't really caught anything- Emrys had scared them off, purposely, from what Mordreds seen- but nonetheless the knights and King had seemed to be enjoying themselves. And then there had been Emrys. He had been unusually silent most of the trip, not bothering to keep up his cheerful facade. He hadn't even bantered with "his royal pratness." Even the knights had noticed that, but they held their tongues until supper.

It was Gwaine who broached the subject, never one for subtlety he waited til the servent was out if earshot and then, _"What's wrong with Merlin?" _Mordred had snapped his head up at that, and stared from his place perched on a log around the fire, _"Maybe he is just __stressed__." _He had thought that maybe they would take heed of him, lighten up on Emrys, but before he can even suggest it the King is speaking, _"What could Mer_lin _possibly have to worry about- it's not as if he worries about the quality of his service." _And then Mordred is screaming.

He feels like a dragon- like he's breathing fire and it's scalding hot, searing and burning everyone it comes in contact with. And everyone steps back lest they be burned, but Mordred can't help it because _how dare they? _They don't even know all that he's done for them- all that he will do. They don't understand, can't even begin to comprehend, what he goes through and all the work they give him on top of that. _How dare they how dare they how dare they. _And Emrys hands were shaking when he served them and there were bags under his eyes. He hasn't been sleeping, hasn't been eating _AND HOW DARE THEY? _He can feel the flames licking the ground and bursting up in the air and his throat is burning. Then he sees Emrys, cowering slightly near a tree. Mordred has scared him, _terrified him. That's not what he wanted. _And he's suddenly so tired and he's not screaming anymore but he's breathing heavily and glaring so fiercely at all of them. And they just stare.

Arthur swallows thickly and looks between Mordred and Emrys, _who's still shaking. "Mordred- what exactly are you saying?" _And Gods, does he realize what he's done. There's no getting out of this, the way his fellow knights and his king are acting. And Emrys looks like he's collapsing in on himself- because he was not ready for this, not yet, not after years of hiding. Mordred is sorry, so sorry- and Arthur is waiting for an answer- so Mordred does the only thing he can and reaches out with his magic because he thinks it'll comfort Emrys a bit to feel the familiar touch in his mind, _"We have to tell him, Emrys. I'm sorry." _He thinks that maybe Emrys wants to scream too.

**AUTHORS NOTE: So, I have not seen much of season five guys. I heard spoilers and have since religiously avoided it because I can't believe it unless I see it...**_**Shutup I'm working on it. **_**So just keep that in mind when reviewing, okay guys :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin can't scream, though, and he can't talk either. He can feel his heart beating in his ears and the color draining from his face. And his hands are still shaking. He can feel the words _I have magic _catching in his throat and hanging there- just clogging inside of him as if they're too big to fit through the doorway. They are too big, they really are- and he's _choking_, gods he can't do it. He can't say it.

Everyone's staring (_glaring, soon it'll be glaring) _at him, and Merlin swallows thickly and vainly trys to stop his eyes from watering. The knights all look so baffled and he almost laughs as he pictures them scratching their heads like animals. Then a thought comes to him-_Their minds are thicker than their bodies- _and he wants to cry again. They could never understand. Leon would be the first to turn on him- the right martinet he is. Percival is a gentle man, but he too would carry out orders- he'll be terrified of him. Elyan will definitely be angry, very, very angry- _ a sorcerer near his sister, the danger, how could he not notice?. _Then Gwaine- oh, _Gwaine. _Gwaine would never hurt him, no, Gwaine will attempt to go down with him, _for him. _And that's even worse. He can't have that happen. He wasn't ready for this- losing his friends too. He's already lost so much.

Arthur has that expression on his face- the one he gets when he's positively determined to handle something. A slight tilt of the chin, the hard set jaw, the dark but steady eyes... Merlin sometimes thinks that _king_ isn't enough to describe Arthur when he's like this- that nothing's enough. And then he remembers that he has to be enough, because once upon a time a dragon told him so. _Albion, Arthur, coins, save, protect, defend, but shhhh don't tell. _ He's not enough, though, he's never enough. Freya died, Morgana turned, Lancelot died, Uther died. He wasn't enough for any of them, he can't even protect strangers properly- but Arthur, Arthur's still looking at him.

He still can't say it, though. Mordred is pricking at the back if his mind, urging him on, urging _Emrys _on, but he can't do it. Part of him wants to, just to get it over with. He's just _so _tired. He's tired of lying, and shaking, and failing. He's just tired. He's also terrified, though. All he knows is magic and Arthur and they're both caving in on him. He's doesn't know what he's supposed to do without destiny whispering in his ear. At this moment, even, he honestly wants to call Kilgarah and ask what he's supposed to do- but he can't do that, because he can't speak. He can barely breath.

Then he can hear Mordred again, speaking in his mind, _you have to tell him, _and he thinks that maybe Mordred knows what to do. Strong, vibrant Mordred who bred and raised by magic itself. Mordred, who's only ever tried to help him. Merlin nods at him and wraps his arms around himself. _Okay, I trust you, _he thinks and he knows Mordred hears him. He glances at Arthur, who was like a brother to him, and steadies his trembling. His magic erupts within him and his eyes flash gold, and suddenly he's standing next to Mordred. He couldn't scream- so his magic screamed for him. Arthur had always called him a coward.


End file.
